This Is the First Question Everyone Asks Me When They Find Out I Used an Egg Donor

One of the best things I did when I started to realize having a baby would be harder than I thought was to start a blog about it. One, because I like attention, and two, I didn’t know anyone going through fertility issues in real life. Throughout my journey, I’ve kept a public blog and I still get several emails a month from other women who have gone through infertility and most of them have questions centered around my daughter’s conception. Namely the method my husband and I used to have her.

My daughter came into this world because of an egg donor.

This all came about because in 2014, my third round of IVF failed. We were two years in the trenches of hard-core fertility treatments. When I was notified of my negative pregnancy result, I knew the time had come to say goodbye to my own eggs. We had spent months weighing the pros and cons already and it was a decision we made that came with a lot of tears, anger, and resentment — mostly from me. There was a lot of different avenues we could have pursued, but in the end, it was going to be an egg donor.

It took two rounds and another tens of thousands of dollars, but in early 2015, I got pregnant, and I stayed pregnant — something I wasn’t able to do before.

As my pregnancy progressed, so did my complex emotions surrounding The Donor Thing, as it became known. Mostly, I was super happy. Sometimes I struggled. Who would this little baby be? Would I recognize myself in her? Would people make a whole bunch of awkward comments about who she looks like when they meet her for the first time? Would she feel like my own baby?

When I was handed over this tiny bundle with fuzzy hair and an indignant look on her face, I had a little trouble catching my breath. Because she was finally here. And she was more perfect than I ever could have imagined. The thoughts of not bonding with her were nowhere to be found. The fears I wouldn’t know her just simply weren’t present in that operating room that day. All those times I rubbed my belly and worried about The Donor Thing was, in fact, not really a thing at all.

I remember sitting on the couch in a therapist’s office with my husband about four months before our first donor egg cycle. We needed a psychologist who specialized in third party reproduction to sign off that we were of sound mind to use someone else’s eggs to get pregnant. I wasn’t able to think past the idea of even getting pregnant, but here was this therapist explaining all about the importance of having the talk with our future child about where they came from. She told us all about the special parenting groups we could join with other “donor egg children” so that they don’t feel so alone.

“She makes it sound like our kid is going to be a freak,” I spit out to my husband as we walked back to the car. We had a good long rant about it on the way home. And it’s why I love him so much. He was the one who would still be contributing to this child genetically, and yet he was quick to come to my side and walk beside me as I processed these feelings of loss. It was from that point on I was determined my child wasn’t going to ever be thought of as a “donor egg baby.”

Fast forward to today. My daughter is a spirited, curly-haired extrovert with a big vocabulary and a tendency to put her hand on her hip, wrinkle her eyebrows and ask, “Why?” no less than 35 times a day. And the truth is, it rarely crosses my mind anymore that we don’t share the same genetics. Here I was, so scared I was going to think of her differently, and the reality is, it doesn’t matter anymore because I’m too busy trying to keep her away from the garbage and not talking back to me.

I’m working on those conversations with her. I bought a book that explains (in toddler-appropriate terms) that she came to us with the help of a very special woman. Honestly, the talks aren’t frequent, and it’s awkward. I think it’s because it just really doesn’t matter how she came into the world anymore. Except for a few talks with medical professionals on our family history when she needs care, it doesn’t come up.

When I get the emails from women who usually are facing the decision to use an egg donor themselves, the same questions always come up: Did you have trouble thinking of your daughter as your own? How do you feel knowing your daughter doesn’t share your genes?

I struggled myself, before we got pregnant and during my pregnancy with her. I remember having those same questions. I didn’t quite believe it when others who’ve been there would tell me they don’t even think about it anymore.

The loss of that genetic link can be huge, I know. I went through a grieving process, because that’s exactly what it was. It was a loss. And then, after time, it became the best decision I ever made.

Walking through the uncertainty of infertility, of failed cycles, of choosing an egg donor — it was heartbreaking at times. But it made me a mother. It taught me that family is so much more than genetics. So much more than two people sharing a bottle of pinot noir and a night under the sheets. I am a mom not because my egg fertilized and divided, but because from the moment I saw that tiny blip on the ultrasound, I knew my life was no longer about me. Maybe we don’t share a genetic code, but she will always know she was fought for long before she was even born. She has my love for animals, my same kindness to want to help others, and she laughs hysterically over the same things I do. Her favorite food is pizza and she can’t resist a really good book. She’s mine in all the ways that truly count.

It was taking that leap of faith, out of my comfort zone and then into the realms of parenthood — like everyone else. And honestly, I’m enjoying my life just being called “Mom.”

This story is meant to reflect individual contributors' experiences and does not necessarily reflect What to Expect's point of view. This content is not intended to be used as medical advice, for diagnosis, or treatment.